The Power to Change
by Cezille07
Summary: What if he's gone too far? What would it take for Zick to go back? Just...one thing. Rather, one person. "The Power to Change" explores Zick's reluctant battle against drug-abuse, and the value of support and friendship in any undertaking.


**The Power to Change**

_Cezille07_

A tale of addiction and of the power of friendship.

Disclaimer: I just wish. Y'know. That's as far as I go at owning Monster Allergy. ;)

_

* * *

_

_No. No. Come on. Stop. Don't do it. Please? Take it easy. You don't have to. You'll live through this. _

_No._

_No._

_Come on!_

_Stop it! _

_DON'T—_

_Yes, give it to me! NOW! _

Zick reached into his pocket and fished out a small plastic bag filled with white powder. Sneaking a look around to make sure no one—human or monster...or both—would see him, an impossible grin formed on his famished lips. Yes...this is good, this is it!

The next five minutes was a mix of high and a terrible headache. But he could barely feel anything else as the powerful chemical rushed through his vulnerable Tamer blood, infusing in it a drowsy, mind-numbing hypnosis that made him want more after every forbidden dose.

* * *

"Anyone seen Zick?" Jeremy asked in that authoritative voice. The Tamers looked around, at each other, but no Zick appeared. "Quite a mystery, isn't it? He's been missing for days," continued the Tutor, "and for a Tutor living in his house, I can't understand how simply anyone can _not_ know where he is."

"Zob and Greta must be worried," Lay remarked after she had narrated the Tamer class' meeting at the Armory to Elena. "You've got to find him, Elena."

"B-but, why me?" shrugged the Keeper.

"Because," Lay said firmly. "Simply because."

* * *

Music was blasting from downstairs. Bombo's tooth-grinding symphony with the Bursties didn't quite match Clak Ritak's painful attempts at violin. But Zick, from his still-high mood, only heard a low, muffled version of the ruckus, as of the careful footsteps headed for his haven, of the gentle knocks, of the starkly familiar voice calling, "Zick? Are you in there?"

No, he wasn't. He was too high to care, to open the door for Elena. He was in heaven and hell at the same time; no Elena could wrench him away from this state of bliss.

"Zick, I'm coming in—"

"No—"

"Zick, where have you been—?"

But beyond this, Elena was speechless. She stared, open-mouthed, at who she supposed was Zick, but saw a far cry from whatever she knew him to be. First and foremost, Zick was a good person. He didn't skip class, whether in regular school or the Armory. He never turned down the least of her bored offers to catch some random monster. He was her best friend; he didn't vanish for days at a time without letting her know, _at least _her. He trusted her, he had no secrets—with the exception of his daily comments on "Lay's pretty clothes, Lay's nice hair, Lay's _everything_"—but this!

This was not Zick! That unmistakable addict-look proved it. The sheet of plastic. The hint of indifference. Those eyes. What was wrong with those eyes? Those eyes she only needed to seek for comfort, security, even in the dampest sewers. Now they didn't see at all. Good. She took the packet of white powder he was holding and managed a gasp.

"I know what _this_ is," she slowly let out. "I don't...really understand why you're doing this, why you need to resort to stuff like this."

He didn't respond.

Elena sighed. "C-can I help you? Just...trust me. I promise, I won't tell your parents, or Jeremy, or—"

"Don't bother," he snapped, hating the very expression she wore—that sickly concern. "I don't need anything...but this." And he half-smiled at the thought. He in a blessed stupor forever.

"Zick, this is for your own good!" she tried to yell, "And if you're not listening to me, I will break my promise, right now!"

Elena turned and made a run for her life, for the little scrap left of the dignity she built up for the both of them. But midway down the stairs, he caught her, dragged her back to his room—with her screaming and flailing—and imposed the first glare he ever mustered against her. Which did nothing. As Elena began the litany, "What are you doing, Zick? You're throwing your life away! Everyone's worrying about you! _I'm_ worrying about you!" he wordlessly absorbed the blows and let her speak. After all, he barely heard her. He didn't see her eyes straining to hold back her tears. He didn't feel her trembling all over, in pain, in anger, in concern—he felt none of that. He was dead to the world, and nobody cared. He was high. He was untouchable. And most importantly, he had no need to explain.

It took a slap from Elena to wake him up, _really_ wake him up. "Don't talk to me ever again!" she said, after which...she never spoke again. She inched her way out of the room, keeping her eyes on him, making sure he wouldn't and _couldn't_ pin her down anymore. Zick blankly stared after her, unable to move, for the first time noticing the un-symphony going on downstairs.

* * *

He had torn open his pillow and emptied the hundreds of packets of heroin onto his bed. He counted through his stash; with a packet in hand and a lurch in his stomach, he forced himself on his feet and crawled to the window to watch Elena's dejected contemplation in her garden. Anytime now. Anytime. There it came: her frustrated groan (and matching outburst to the innocent Purrcy) in time for the next nudge of his hungered brain, "Give me another, another dose Zick, of the drug."

His hand easily yanked open the plastic. Elena was giving Purrcy a verbal beating. An impatient grin was playing on his lips. _She doesn't care. Now the drug,_ nudged his brain. _Heroin_.

But that image of Elena's concern was drawn over his eyes, and he couldn't bring himself to consume that which he fought so hard for.

_Elena..._

_No, heroin!_

_But Elena—_

_You piece of crap, give me a dose!_

Zick found it hard to tear his forlorn gaze from her still-angry pose in the garden. _She fought for me_, something in his dormant mind agreed, _she cares for me—_

_Heroin time!_

_NO! _He threw the pack on the floor, and crushed it into a finer powder with his foot. His heart was racing an impossible race. It had been a long while since he last used his inhaler. Why couldn't he breathe? He needed the heroin. It was life and death in every particle: Destiny, salvation, a joyride to insanity, heroin! _No_, wept his swollen eyes. He needed Elena. _Elena. Elena. She cares. She cares about me..._

* * *

"Argh! Darn it, Purrcy!"

The cat meowed in pain as his master delivered a squeeze on his front paws.

"What do I do?"

Purrcy seized the moment Elena relaxed her hands, and he ran back indoors, away from his oppressor.

"What _do_ I do?" Elena repeated to herself. What _was_ there to do? If he didn't want her help—but it was her duty. It was _more_ than her duty, as a friend, as a neighbor. Didn't she care enough? So it would be right to walk him through whatever he needed help with? She couldn't quite think of a reason to _why_ Zick would even _think_...about...that drug.

_Heroin_.

She might as well succumb to it too, the way things were going. With another frustrated groan, she stood up and decided to walk the thought away.

Timothy caught up before she was on her feet. "Mind if I join you?" he asked casually. She shook her head and initiated the walk with a sigh.

"Where are you headed?" asked Timothy.

"Nowhere. Just taking a little walk," she answered.

"Oh. As for me, I'm off to the Suspended City for a little business."

"What's that?"

"I'm going to notify the Maximum Tutors about Zick's absence."

Elena's stomach made a lurch, but she said nothing.

"It's not surprising that he's been missing," continued Timothy. "I'm sure he's doing great, whatever he's doing."

Again, Elena did not respond.

"Has he told you anything? About where he is? How he is? What he's up to?"

"What?" gulped Elena. What was the reason she wanted to walk around again? Oh yes—to stop thinking of Zick. That drug. Maybe that look he gave when she tried to run off with his secret—that scared her the most. And his secret, she resolved, was going to remain a secret...

"Elena? What's wrong?" Timothy interrupted.

She returned the most plastic smile, turned back, and walked to her house without another word. But being Timothy, he instantly saw her steal a glance at a second floor window in the Barrymore Detention Oasis.

* * *

Hands off. Find Elena.

The next morning was filled with these two instructions. Hands off, find Elena. Zick had to keep repeating the words so he wasn't tempted—hands off, find her. He managed to throw out the entire stash, far from anywhere his parents (or Bombo) might look. Hands off, find her. Hands off, because he'd prove he can possibly change himself, set things right. For her.

Find her.

* * *

She wasn't in her usual seat beside his, and was occupying the backmost desk in the classroom. With a quick think-back on her first day at the school, he made his way to her and prepared his speech.

"Elena, I—"

"Save it," she cut him. She waited a moment, then resumed, "You sent me back here, remember, on my first day?"

He remembered it, and unfortunately, she remembered too.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm fine here. I have super-sight and I can see the blackboard from way over here. But thankfully Ms. Swift's voice is an effective lullaby, and I can blissfully ignore her lessons..._and_ you."

"Elena, I wasn't talking about—"

"Oh, don't worry. You can forget all my complaints about you leaving me out, or you not listening to me, or even the fact that you keep trying to _shut me out of your life_! I'm okay with that! It _is_ what you wanted in the first place, isn't it?"

Zick couldn't reply.

"So this is your lucky day, you've finally gotten rid of Elena the nosy, attention-hungry best friend," she finished. "How does it feel?"

"I'm—"

"Happy? Good! Then leave me out of your plans and keep up 'what you're doing'."

The whole class was watching them now, including Ms. Swift who just came in.

"What's going on in here? Zick? Elena?" she asked anxiously.

"Nothing, Ms. Swift," answered Elena, taking her seat. "Exactly nothing," she added, "Nothing's going on between me and Zick; you won't even hear our names conjuncted like that again."

The weight of their pitiful stares was blinding to Zick. He could no longer look back and ask—beg—for her forgiveness. Elena had said the final words. He didn't think it would actually hurt, but there he was, trying not to absorb the truth of her sentence—which sank in anyway. It wasn't just about the drug, hidden in her arguments. It was the sheer disappointment he had let her feel, all those times she pushed her way in and got pushed back out. And the worst part was...she was right.

* * *

The most he could do was stare far ahead into the chalkboard and hope the bell would signal a break. Then he'd go home, look for some heroin, and kill himself where no one—not even Elena—would find him. He wasn't worth looking for, worth fighting for. The last person he never thought would leave had just left the scene.

Wait, there was something in his bag—

One last packet of the drug, jammed between pages of his barely-used Phys-Ed textbook. Something in his mind turned on. _Way to go! Woohoo!_ cried a little voice, _Take it! Feed me!_ The rest of his body followed suit: _Go ahead, you'll end up dead anyway. It's alright_. They all drowned out the last shreds of reason, that said in a voice like Elena's, _Don't do it, Zick...please?_

No, Elena had just quit on him! He couldn't tell what bothered him more, if it was the temptation or the last fact. She gave up on him. What happened to the "Hands off, find her" instruction was beyond him too. So much for forgiveness! In that case, so much for _trying_ to change. He tore open the little plastic and snuck a look around. _The coast is clear_, yelled his brain, _now get on with it!_ And he agreed, his brain was right. Mind over matter, drug over mind. No one was watching—not even Elena. As if anyone cared. His entire being loathed the thought that she wouldn't stand up for him anymore. _Do it now!_ He blinked. The decision used to be _so_ easy. And so hard at the same time. He wasn't sure if this was a sign of the drug's control over his brain. He couldn't think. Didn't want to think. _Oh Elena, why did you have to make things so difficult?_

_Do it!_

And suddenly—

Everything...

Went...

Dark.

* * *

Panic!

She was supposed to panic.

Elena watched the class scramble from the collapsed Zick, saw Ms. Swift's hesitant anxiety—to call Elena or not?—in asking for help.

"Someone please take Zick to the clinic," Ms. Swift said tentatively. She didn't dare look at Elena. "Anyone?" But no one responded. "Fine, I'll go. What could be wrong this time?"

Elena laughed inwardly at their confusion. Zick will pay for his mistakes, slowly and painfully, starting with the school physician's heated interrogation, then his parent's protective nagging, and finally the Tutors' disappointed reprimands. And it won't stop there. The least they would do would be to place him in some rehabilitation program, and if she remembered right, withdrawal was the most difficult, the most deadly part of addiction. As if the social pressure wouldn't be enough. Again, she laughed. Victoriously...

Until she saw him mouthing, "Elena."

* * *

"Wait! I'll go!" The next second she was attempting to wake Zick up, successfully pocketing his opened but still unused packet of heroin.

Since when was he this easy to carry? Since when did having him this close feel so new, so foreign? She ignored the stares and herded her half-awake best friend away from the classroom. All the while she got the feeling he was acutely conscious, too aware of her. He squirmed and pulled himself away from her grasp, throwing himself to the floor and earning his hands a few scratches.

"Relax! I'm not taking you to the clinic," she explained.

"Why, Elena? _Why? _I thought you didn't want to have _anything_ to do with me!" he cried. "I'll take that to heart, I'll listen now! You don't need to rub in my dependence!"

"It's not that! I was angry, okay? But I'm over it now," she tried, but Zick only crawled away, toward the restroom. "Zick, _please_ let me do this. You can trust me—"

"I've had enough! You think you're the only one complaining in this friendship? I've ALWAYS...needed you, Elena; you're the best thing that happened to me—" His phrase broke off, his eyes shut tensely against the wild thrashing of his insides, his brain screaming, "HEROIN! HEROIN!"

But his eyes, as they filled with helpless tears, found Elena's. Her arms encased him in a warm embrace, and her eternal voice soothed his straining ears, "It's okay, Zick. I'm here. I'll _always_ be here."

"Elena—"

"Shh, that's enough. You're okay," she paused, "...We're okay."

For a long time they stayed like that, in that embrace. Zick had never and will never again hold a hand that tightly. Never feel that safe, never that...content. Two hours. And she'd never leave, she promised? She held him for two hours, and in two hours, his hunger for heroin, and love, finally ended.

**END.**


End file.
